


Lost Light

by genVicron



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Familiar places desecrated, Memory Loss, introspective, selective mute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genVicron/pseuds/genVicron
Summary: She remembers her name.  It does not fit right any longer, not without everything else that made up that person.
Kudos: 7





	Lost Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a little drabble about the rage my character felt encountering Aldritch, but I got caught up in establishing the character and now it's sort of lost in translation. I hope it's still enough to be enjoyable. I may find a way to continue this once I'm done with my major project but until then this is all there is for it.

Everyone called her Ashen One, it wasn’t her given name, but it suited her fine. It was what she was, now. There was the taste of failure in that fact, but she could hardly remember why she’d thought she could have Linked the fire any longer.

There were bits and pieces that came back to her sometimes. Two faces, so different, but each as beloved as the other. One had two forms, but she knew it was the same face. He was warm and sharp, more familiar than the name that felt like it belonged to someone she had hardly ever been and likely would never be again; but he was also grey and withered, ravaged by the curse that even now plagued humanity.

She tried not to think too much on that face, the bite of grief followed it.

The other face wore a golden mask, he was pale as snow, radiant in the same way as the moon, and when she reflected on that face she felt a security fall over her. An old duty, perhaps? One she’d chosen, unlike this second living death.

When she’d lived something more than a half-life the second face had called her Good Blade, she’d been his bodyguard perhaps? An assassin? She certainly found her voice abandoned her often enough for the silence demanded by either. She thumbed the Blue Sentinel’s scroll. It felt important, just adjacent to familiar, like if she just thought on it long enough she could remember why; but the hours she’d spent pouring over the contract, picking apart every word and clause, had yielded her nothing.

The road to this place had been difficult, and she was tired, but she found staring into the Bonfire through the slits of her helm was dredging up unimportant thoughts again; thoughts that had her hands clenched at the cloth wrapped around her gorget and her mind digging for memories that refused to return.

She’d had enough of this tomb anyways, it was time to move on. The most important memory was one that stood the test of time and death. She was a woman defined by her duties. Willingly chosen or not, duty was duty, and it was meant to be honored. She chastised herself for pining over a past long lost to her as she forced herself to her feet.

Throwing the skull goblet on the altar a last venomous glance she shouldered her bastard sword and marched for the door on the far end of the room.

As she forced the ancient stone open the burst of cold air from the other side shocked her into stillness. It was a different chill from that of the Painted World that knight in the Deep Cathedral had pulled her into. That had been bitter and biting, enough that she had nearly been willing to part with her armour in favour of the ragged but warm clothes of the Followers.

This was bracing. It still bit at her face beneath her helm, but there was a familiarity in it, a comfort. Enough that the stab of recognition also let her know something was wrong. She took a breath and the air tasted of cold iron and mildew. That was wrong. It was supposed to… she couldn’t remember.

She shook herself, it didn’t matter what it was supposed to be, it mattered what it was now. She marched her way out into the light and was again shocked into stillness by the sight that unfolded before her.

The moon stood above, a crescent resplendent and proud, grand spires and cathedrals spiralled up into the sky below it. The names of places came easily to the Undead, whether Hollow or Unkindled, but even without that strange magic she knew this place. This was Irithyll.

The name had been bandied about often in her journey up to this point, but before now it hadn’t even caused a moment’s pause. Now it set something sinking in her stomach as she recalled the things she had faced that came from this place. The twisted creatures, Vordt, and the Outrider Knight. The Pontiff Sulyvahn and his doll in the tomb.

Suddenly the name struck discordant, like it fit slightly wrong. Pontiff? Had there been a Pontiff? Surely someone or something had mentioned a Pontiff. The name was there, so someone must have, but it still wouldn’t quite fit with the place glittering in the moonlight before her now. Perhaps the Pontiff had belonged somewhere else. She shook herself again and forced her feet to move, though the dread in her chest was building.

Climbing down the hill she felt another moment of recognition at the crumbling, evidently decorative pillars lining the road up to the gateway. She stared at them a moment, a feeling of revelation hidden just within the branching, hollow top of one that had collapsed.

Incense. Those were incense lanterns, unlit and unattended. That was what had been wrong, the air leading into the city was meant to smell of incense. Offerings to… to? She felt her lip tug in a frustrated snarl.

The ghostly breath of a Summon Sign appearing broke her from her thoughts and she glanced to the gateway. There, about halfway across the bridge she could see the sign flickering. She could not read it from here, but it hardly mattered who it was from, it would make a good distraction from her strange affinity for this place.

She needed not go even that far to gain her distraction. The sign vanished as a chilling howl filled the air. She spun, blade at the ready as the beast crawled out of seemingly thin air. It was like someone had stretched, enlarged, and stuffed an opossum with more and more parts until it had burst open. Its six eyes focused on her with familiar, vicious intent, but a spark of cunning as well. The Ashen One allowed herself to smile beneath her helm, this would be quite the distraction indeed.

The first battle was over in a flash of fur, teeth, and lightning. She was dead before she even had the chance to realize what the strange writhing of its jaws had meant. As she rose from the Bonfire again she turned her mind to the arena.

The beast was large enough that even the broad bridge was too small for her to stay out of its reach, and that charge was enough of a threat that she wouldn’t want to keep it at a distance anyways. She’d need to stay close to it. She steeled herself and ventured to the bridge again.

The second attempt ended underneath an endless lightning strike. Going for its exposed, gorey underbelly had proven unwise.

The third ended under the crush of its jaws once again, keeping to its back caused its bulk to disguise its movements, she’d need to face this creature head on.

She stopped keeping track of attempts after that, as it failed to pull out any new tricks of note. It was just powerful enough that it needed little else to slay her.

Some time after, she managed to get out of the way of its open-mouthed charge and discovered that it was a rather reckless attack. The beast stalled for a time once it was completed and had little control of its momentum during. A plan hatched in her mind as she perished beneath its claws once more.

This time when it appeared she took a step back, its baleful eyes almost seemed confused for a moment, as if it was wondering why she kept approaching while it stood guard. The moment passed as its jaws began to twist. She turned on her heel and ran. She heard the creature thundering along behind her, rapidly closing the gap. As she heard its bulk crash behind her in its final lunge she planted her feet and turned, bracing her stance with a stomp and sweeping from below with her blade. The strike met true, smashing up through the beast’s bottom jaw and lodging her blade in its pallet until it pulled itself free with an agonized snarl, rearing high and trembling in pain.

She recognized an opening when she saw it and took the opportunity with a sharp smile. She drove her blade into the exposed organs beneath its maw-like protruding ribs and it let out an almost human scream as she wrenched it back out, opening a slash down its foul belly in a spray of blood and viscera. She laughed at the rush and the taste of victory as she watched the beast fall onto its back and begin to thrash wildly, desperate to drive her away. Its movements were too hectic for her to close the distance so she stood by and watched it wear itself out. Then it did something curious.

It clenched its paws together as if in prayer, trembling and wheezing as it did so. She stared at it for a long moment. Was it pleading for mercy? Deliverance? It had hardly afforded her such things. 

She clenched her teeth; it wasn’t supposed to be doing this, it was supposed to get back on its feet and face her with even greater ferocity, hungry for vengeance. Slaying the thing would feel awkward and cruel now that it was surrendering. 

She glared at it and huffed to herself, she would show mercy. The thrill of outsmarting the creature was enough without outright killing something rendered helpless.

And so she entered Irithyll proper, and the feeling of familiarity intensified. The smell of bread flashed across her senses for a spare instant before she realized it was only memory. She shook her head to drive it away. Being lost in thought was a great way to end up with a blade in your back in her experience.

That wrongness began to creep up on her again, like something sacred had been violated here. It was so quiet, it shouldn’t have been quiet, there should have been footsteps, whispers, something beyond the chilled wind that swept snow from the buildings and into the square.

 _Even the fountain’s gone still,_ she found herself thinking as she approached the collection of statues in the center. She blinked, was it a fountain? Glancing over one of the short stone walls around it she saw frozen water, cloudy and motionless. So it was; how had she known that? What was this place to her?

She growled and tore herself away from the fountain. It was unimportant, what was important was that someone was expecting her. She lit the bonfire off to the side of the square as she brushed past it and headed back to the bridge.

She was nearly halfway across before the Sign made itself known again. The pale off-white of a cry for aid. Kneeling down, she let it twine through her essence, dragging her through into the quest of another.

Sirris stood facing away from the Ashen One, and suddenly seeing the polished silver and white linen of her armour silhouetted against the moon caused a pang of nostalgia where before it had hardly even been worth her notice.

She shook her head and hefted her blade, if Sirris had called there was no time to gawk, there would be foes to slay.

The battle against this Creighton was grueling, he didn’t have the sheer killing power that the creature she’d fought before had, but he seemed to shrug off just about any blow that landed on him. His attacks were artless, almost wild, but he was on the cusp of tireless and utterly relentless besides. Only the fact that he was facing two opponents that he seemed to want dead equally gave either of them a chance to catch their breath while he focused on the other.

In the end it was Sirris who landed the final blow, the Ashen One had been distracted by another tug of nostalgia as Sirris cloaked her weapon in holy starlight and ended up able to do little more than backpedal to keep Creighton from lodging his axe in her armour again while Sirris drove her Estoc into the side of his head and he fell still at last.

Sirris gave her a firm nod, the Ashen One offered her one in return.

“Thank you for your kind assistance. Blessing of the Moon upon your journey.”

The simple farewell, heard many times before from Sirris’ lips, suddenly felt like a punch to the gut. It _meant_ something to her, but what she could not say.

The Ashen One opened her mouth to ask, feeling her face twist in frustration as her voice refused her once again, leaving her gaping, her chest throbbing with pain and her breath frozen underneath her helm. She made not a sound as the magic of the Summons enfolded her again, pulling her back into the world of her own quest.

She stood on the bridge, fists clenched and trembling as she waited for her breathing to start again. She considered cutting her tongue from her head, these moments would be so less frustrating if she was simply unable to speak. This freezing was intolerable. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, holding it as she imagined the stillness of calm water settling over her. She let it out and took another, repeating the process until the lightning racing through her body faded enough that she could no longer hear her armour clatter around her.

She did not remember where she had learned to do that, but in the haze of half-remembered places and people hiding just beyond her reach that felt more like an injustice than it ever had before.

As she opened her eyes, she found herself wishing the bridge creature would return and distract her again. It refused her silent summons and she adjusted her shoulders, turning back to Irithyll proper. If that beast would not oblige, there would no doubt be others if she simply kept moving forward.


End file.
